


The First Family

by mwicks



Series: The First Family [2]
Category: Generation Kill
Genre: AU, Developing Relationship, Devil Dogs are cool, M/M, Other, The First Family Universe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-03-27
Updated: 2011-03-27
Packaged: 2017-10-17 07:46:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/174533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mwicks/pseuds/mwicks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some things were just meant to be</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Complete fabrication – based on characters from a TV series and the authors own wild imaginings with no disrespect for actual people. Idea stolen from ‘Family Portrait’ by Journey. All mistakes my own.

Prologue

JUL05  
The sun beat a burning cadence along his uniformed shoulders as he shifted slightly to let the damp pants move from the back of his knees. You could see the waves of heat wafting over the heads of the assembled, the stifling temperature making the day just that bit more uncomfortable.

He straightened his non regulation sunglasses and tried to refocus on the solemn words being said, but he found his attention wandering away – away from the tragedy of the day, the heavy empty feeling in his chest; away from the idea that the ground would soon envelope someone he…

The feel of a small hand slipping into his broke him from that particular crushing line of thought and he gently grasped the tender lifeline. He turned and crouched down until he was face to face with a younger version of his own green eyes; her blonde hair escaping from the ties his mother had put it in this morning.

When she reached for him, he gathered her up and rose again as the solemn intoning stopped and movement alerted him to a change in the SOP. She is a light, warm weight against his side as he turned and watched men in dress blues snap and fold the flag in clean precise movements.

It’s the moment he’s been dreading since he got the early morning phone call 2 weeks ago; any second now he’s going to be given that perfectly folded flag, they are going to salute and the coffin with his wife’s body will be lowered into the ground. A wife, mother and his best friend for a neatly folded flag – he can’t even begin to think on the unfairness of the exchange.

He takes the damn flag, suffers the saluting and resolutely watches the coffin being lowered. The child in his arms sniffles, resting her head on his shoulder and he brings his free hand up to stroke her soft hair. He looks over to his mother and watches the other child sleeping in her arms. The sudden impulse to grab his children and run hits him hard in his gut and he can’t stop the small groan that tumbles from his lips; the overwhelming pain, fear and anger threaten to erupt.

Small arms tightening around his neck bring him back to the now, the pain numbing his limbs. He realises his mother is standing in front of him and the others are moving slowly away in the heat, their eyes never quite catching his, their faces drawn in sadness. The sleeping child in her arms is now awake and reaching for him with chubby arms. He lowers Isabella to the ground still holding onto to her hand, tucks the flag under his arm as Christopher wriggles from his mother to him. He watches her move away.

The forlorn little family stands in the blaring heat watching workers shovel dirt onto of the coffin, the sickly sweet smell of Lilies clogging the still air. He can feel sweat trickling down his back and the heavy press of his uniform. Tightening his arms around his son and his daughter’s small hand in his he turns away from his wife’s final resting place and moves them out of the heat and into the cool darkness of the black funeral cars.


	2. DEC06 - Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some things were just meant to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Complete fabrication – based on characters from a TV series and the authors own wild imaginings with no disrespect for actual people. Idea stolen from ‘Family Portrait’ by Journey. All mistakes my own

DEC06: Part 1  
If pushed Brad Colbert would admit he’s a little… uninterested – not bored, because only whinging short bus fucks get bored – but he’s definitely uninterested in this detail at the moment. Not that he’s not doing a stellar job; it’s just, looking after the Senator when he’s having lunch with 150 of his closest ‘friends’ (re: campaign contributors) in a secure location on a Marine base, with a plethora of other Marines, Secret Service and FBI – it’s not really stretching his warrior capabilities.

So, it’s no surprise when he hears Ray’s whinging voice in his ear piece.

“Fuck, homes, how much longer? This is fucking boring – I’ve had better times watching Trombley trying to catch flies than this,” his RTO confirming his opinion of people who get bored, “I seriously need to piss.”

Brad sighs and signals for Walt to take Ray’s spot near the far table so that Ray could leave.

“You’ve got 2 minutes, Ray,” he mumbles into the mic on his lapel.

“Just enough time to jack one off thinking about your mom,” is Ray’s parting shot but Brad’s attention is diverted by the Senator and the Host of this luncheon – his CO – getting ready to stand and make their way around the room.

“Bravo 2, be advised, Godfather is Oscar Mike,” he said calmly as he moved to fall in behind the two men. In his peripheral he sees Poke move to shadow and Garza turn to sweep his sector.

“Senator, I’d like you to meet Generals Mathis, Mc Chrystal and Petraeus,” Godfather is saying as Brad approaches the table were there’s enough brass to sink two battle cruisers.

“Gentleman, I wish to thank you for your hospitality and your time,” the Senator said as he shook hands, “I understand you all have busy schedules.”

Brad swept his sector and turned down the conversations in his mind. The Senator had become a very big deal in the political circles, as evidenced by this luncheon and his meeting with three of the biggest military hawks currently overseeing the War on Terror. Rumour has it the Senator will run for President.

As they moved from table to table, Poke catches Brad’s eye and smirks to convey his thoughts on the proceedings. Brad couldn’t agree more, Recon Marines are not trained as security detail. It’s like guarding your niece’s My Little Pony with a .50 Cal, a couple of Predator SRAWs and a Howitzer. Not that Brad knew anything about My Little Ponies.

“...and this is Thomas Ricks, Senator, a journalist and member of The Centre for a New American Security,” Godfather was introducing his guest of honour to a bearded barrel of a man in a sharp navy suit.

“Of course, Mr Ricks, I’ve read your books,” The Senator was smoothly shaking hands, “I’d be interested in hearing your current thoughts on Afghanistan and how America can help the Government bring about Democracy.”

“I can give you all the academic arguments you need,” Ricks replied, “but if you want hands on, first person advice then you need to talk to this man. Nate?”

Brad watched as Ricks stepped back to introduce the younger man behind him.

Oh.

His face looked familiar – but Brad couldn’t place where he’d seen those earnest green eyes and full bottom lip before, which was remiss of him because both were pretty unforgettable.

He watches carefully as Ricks introduces him to the Senator.

“…Nathaniel Fick, former Marine Captain, Harvard Scholar and Author of ‘One Bullet Away’,” the man – Fick – didn’t look a day over 21, all sincere expressions and athletic lines. Brad briefly wondered what it would have been like to serve under him.

Distracting.

He became aware of someone at his 9 and turned to see Poke smiling broadly at the four men talking in front of them.

“What the fuck, dawg?” he said in Brad’s general direction, “what’s the LT doing swinging with the big cats?”

“Captain – retired,” Brad responds automatically.

Poke hmmmes and nods like it all made sense. Brad knows that Poke had been with 1st Marines before he joined Recon.

“…I think there are lessons to be learned in Iraq that we can apply in Afghanistan but we can’t apply them blindly,” Fick was saying to his audience. Brad notes that he speaks with the clear, calm authority of a man who believes in his position.

“And what lessons are those?” the Senator leans forward a little to give Fick his undivided attention, seemingly keen to hear what the younger man has to say.

“Well, Sir, they are lessons we’ve relearned from counterinsurgency programs in the past,” Fick goes on to explain, “Firstly, our best weapons don’t shoot – restraint is often better than force. Secondly, the more we protect our forces behind huge blast walls, the less effective we’ll be. Thirdly, more force isn’t always more effective and fourthly we can not accept tactical success in a vacuum – we might win the battle but end up losing the war.”

Sounds like typical pussy liberalism to Brad.

Poke sighs beside him.

“White boy’s still singing the hippy song of peace,” he said in an almost fond voice.

“You served with him?” Brad asked without taking his eyes off his sector.

“Two tours,” Poke answered, “one in Afghanistan and one in Iraq. Fick was the one Officer we actually believed in. Boys’ got it squared away.”

Ricks was saying something about Fick looking to join the nonpartisan think tank when Brad notices Fick’s attention flash briefly in their direction. A slight upturning of that mouth was the extent of acknowledgement they got, but it was more than most.

As the Senator and Godfather moved on to the next table, Poke surprises him by side stepping to talk to Fick.

“Sup LT?” Poke says by way of greeting and Brad pauses to see Fick’s eyes slide over him and rest on Poke.

“Not much Espera,” Fick responded, his voice even and serious but his eyes starting to dance with mischief, “the white man still keeping you down?”

“You know it, Lt,” Poke said with a smile threatening, “I try to impart my superior logic and lexicon to the unwashed masses but the shit rolls downhill, you know.”

Brad should be following Godfather and the Senator but he’s kind of mesmerised by the curve of Fick’s mouth and the guarded humour he sees in that incredibly young looking face.

“Lexicon, Poke?” Fick asks, the laughter clear in his tone, “seems as if the move to Recon has improved your vocab. You’re beginning to sound suspiciously like the pansy assed, café latte drinking, tree loving liberal I always suspected you to be.”

Brad’s attention snapped at that. Now that he didn’t expect.

Poke gives Fick a hard stare.

“With all due respect, attitude reflects leadership – Captain – so any pansy assed, tree loving hippy bullshit must have come from you because you know Recon are cold-blooded warriors. We're carnivorous motherfuckers, Dawg and we carry it like that.”

“Retired Captain, Poke, and it’s good to see you too,” Fick smiles and extends his hand.

“Fuck that Nate,” Poke says smiling as he pulls Fick in for a hug. Brad’s never seen Poke get touchy feely with anyone before so this Fick guy must be special.

“It’s been awhile,” Fick says as he pulls back from Poke, his eyes sweeping up to Brads. Poke notices and turns slightly to introduce them.

“Nate, this Aryan looking sad sack is Staff Sergeant Brad Colbert,” Poke’s smile said ‘play nice’, “Colbert, meet one of your betters – Nate Fick.”

Brad took the offered hand, looked down and sort of just fell into those green eyes.

Oh. Huh?

“Nice to meet you Brad,” Fick – Nate – was saying and the accompanying smile just demanded one of his in return, “how do you handle Poke’s special brand of bandwagon jumping and frequent racial indignation?”

This is how Brad found himself smiling at Nate Fick, shaking his hand and holding on for just a little bit too long. Not that Nate seemed to mind.

Poke just smirked.

“I don’t tend to pander to his pathetic delusions, preferring to remind him that he’s not Mexican, First Nations nor Native American and, if he persists with the ‘oppression of the African American man’ bullshit I helpfully point out that he’s probably the whitest dick suck we know and that Gina’s got him so pussy whipped that it must be his lack of balls that makes him paranoid,” Brad’s training kicked in – always ready.

Nate laughed, a loud hearty laugh that made Brad’s grin reappear.

“You make a very salient point, Brad,” Nate said, again, smiling up into Brad’s face, “It’s a wonder what a fine woman like Gina sees in this sorry excuse for a man.”

“She’s obviously slumming it,” Brad picked up the beat, “probably as a late rebellion against her parents and society at large. Either that or she’s part of a community service projects that targets mixed race retards and tries to reintegrates them.”

WTF? Rabbit on much, Colbert? Nate didn’t seem to be at all phased.

“Ahhh, yes – the Adopt a Pathetic Racial Ambiguous Person Betterment Program,” Brad could practically feel the air vibrate between them.

“Hey – still in the room, assholes,” Poke grumbled.

“Point Tony,” Brad said reluctant to break whatever this was between Nate and himself, but he did have a job to do.

“I should let you get back to it,” Nate said almost reluctantly.

“How long are you in town for?” Poke asked.

“I fly back tomorrow afternoon,” Nate answered, “we have a couple of Radio spots to do in the morning.”

Poke was nodding.

“Ok, so I’ll call Rudy and Mike and we’ll grab a couple of burgers at RR’s and then crash the Head,” Poke was making social plans like Oprah, “I take it Gunny knows you’re in town.”

Nate’s mouth quirked up at the side.

“I didn’t call him, but I’m sure he knows.”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Poke agreed, “8pm at RR’s.”

Nate nodded and looked again at Brad. Was that wistfulness?

“Don’t worry, LT,” Poke said as he moved off to where Godfather and the Senator were talking, “I’ll drag the Iceman’s antisocial ass with me as well and the two of you can continue your little white supremacy bullshit.”

Damn that smile. Brad ignored the unease in his stomach and gave a half smile of his own before he followed Poke and tried to get his mind back on the job.


	3. DEC06 - Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some things were just meant to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Complete fabrication – based on characters from a TV series and the authors own wild imaginings with no disrespect for actual people. Idea stolen from ‘Family Portrait’ by Journey. All mistakes my own.

DEC06: Part 2  
He heard them before he saw them – which is fairly typical of Marine behavior. He listened for a moment to the familiar pattern of put downs, sarcastic comments, definitely un-PC language and was instantly transported back to his time in service. His stomach clenched and he had to take a few calming breaths to centre himself before he rounded the divide and joined Poke and co.

It had been at least 3 years since he’d set foot in Oceanside and maybe 18 months more since he’d been in Red Rooster – but the place hadn’t changed. Still the same slightly seedy exterior with it’s white washed walls, small car park and industrial location – it particularly screamed ‘Hicksville!”. The boys were seated around four small tables; they had the run of the place tonight.

He heard Poke greet him above the din and Nate had to breathe out and clamp down on that unwelcomed feeling of panic again.

It’s just burgers and beers with friends.

“Good to know where I stand on the Fick phone tree,” a slight Texan drawl to his 6 alerted him to his former Gunny.

“Now Mike,” Nate started with the put upon air of the long suffering, “I know you knew the moment I knew that I was coming out here this weekend and I know this because Cara is always the first person my sister calls, or my mother calls – hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if Rick calls Cara! So less of the ‘poor me’ and more of the ‘can I get you a beer, Nate?’”

That earned him a wry smile.

“Can I get you a beer, Nate?” Mike Wynn asked as he pulled Nate in for a hug, “It’s really good to see you.”

Mike held on for several long moments and Nate felt the backs of his eyes prickle. He cleared his throat and Mike released him. When Nate finally looked him in the eye he could see none of the pity he’d been used to since, well, since Maggie. There was only sadness and for that he was thankful. Trust Mike to give him what he needed.

“Thanks Mike,” he said quietly and they both knew it wasn’t just for the offer of beer.

Mike nodded and moved off to get the beers. He wasn’t two steps away when Nate was engulfed in another strong embrace and manly pats on the back.

The Paco Rabanne aftershave was a dead give away.

“Rudy, you smell great,” Nate said as he tried to extract himself from the hug, “but I’m not sure Pappy would like you hugging random men in Red Rooster.”

It was lame, but the overt display of emotion was kind of getting to him. He had missed these men far too much.

Rudy laughed and pulled back to search Nate’s face. His eyes held no pity either and for that Nate was thankful.

“You are getting there but your path is still too long,” Rudy proclaimed in that soft spoken way of his, “Perhaps you will find that for which you seek.”

Nate knew better than to be mystified or ask for an explanation. Rudy is how Rudy is. So he simply nodded and turned to find a vacant seat next to Poke.

Poke introduced him to the faces at the table he didn’t know – a small, wiry, dark haired motor mouth in a faded Offspring shirt called Ray and his fall guy, a young quietly spoken guy by the name of Walt. Garza and Lilley from Poke’s team, Stafford and Christeson from Mike’s. The final person at the tables didn’t need introducing, Nate remembered his name.

Brad Colbert.

He was wearing a leather jacket over a white t-shirt that stretched across the plains of his chest. Nate didn’t really need the quickening of his pulse to know he liked what he saw. It had been a very long time since Nate had had a purely physical response to anyone and he hoped it wasn’t going to be a problem tonight.

Liar, he heard a tiny voice in his head say.

He nodded to Brad and let the conversation wash over him.

“Fuck that shit,” Ray was saying to no-one in particular, “you know South Park totally destroys the Simpsons – and I fuckin love the Simpsons – but Beavis and Butthead don’t need resurrecting.”

“Are you saying Beavis and Butthead are crap?” Garza asked from behind large dark rimmed glasses.

“Fuck no, Homes,” Ray’s voice went up a notch, “They fuckin ruled the early to mid‘90’s – millions of pimply, socially inept, whiskey tango fucks cracked wood over each episode.”

“Personal experience talking again Person?” Poke said gaining a few sniggers from the others. Ray chose to ignore him.

“Dude, they were the shizznit,” Ray continued, “But they need to stay in the ‘90’s where they belong. The world has moved on and Beavis and Butthead will drown in today’s climate of Motorola, James Blunt and fuckin Pirates of the Caribbean. I don’t want my Beavis and Butthead polluted by fuckin Beyonce and weapons of mass destruction. My Beavis and Butthead are untainted by 9/11, R’n’B and Al fuckin Gore’s inconvenient truth.”

Nate shook his head – the public perception that Marines were dumb jarheads just got firmly reputed.

“Jesus Hasser, you let him eat E numbers again?” Brad asked as his eyes found Nate’s and smiled.

“Nah – but he did say something about hiding Rip Fuel in the Humvee again this tour,” Walt said evenly as he patted Ray’s arm.

The multiple groans at the table almost drown out Ray’s sparkling response – almost – which Nate listened to with half and ear as Mike returned with a huge tray of beers.

“You’re shipping out?” he asked quietly as Mike distributed the jugs and glasses. He glanced quickly at Nate then nodded.

“Day after tomorrow – that’s why we’re all here; can’t tour without having Red Roster burgers,” his matter of fact tone allowed Nate time to process.

He remembered his own pre-tour rituals with Mike and his men; remembered Maggie stumbling into their bedroom in the early morning hours after being dragged around Oceanside by her team that May before.

Tradition was synonymous with USMC.

Nate let out a slow breathe and tried to pick up the conversation again. Brad and Ray seemed to be having a verbose discussion on the validity of Yogi Bear doing an instructional video about earthquake preparedness, while Poke was pontificating about white man’s need to take over east coast hardcore gangsta rap.

By the time they ordered burgers Nate had been transported back into that familiar groove of a tight cohesive unit where varying personalities actually meshed together extremely well. The idea that you lived and fought for the man next to you was such an alien concept outside of the service.

“Bet you miss all this,” Poke’s voice suddenly cut through the general chatter and Nate realised that most of the men were looking curiously in his direction.

He bit his bottom lip, worrying it with his teeth before answering.

“What’s to miss, Poke?” he started, “Your grubby face leaning into my grave at O’fuck hundred to tell me your out of LSA and could I get you some more?”

Mike laughed at that shared memory.

“Or fucking Gunny here,” Nate turned to face Mike, “and his constant nagging and bizarre home spun wisdom?”

The complete lack of heat in his words allowed the men to laugh at his good natured digs at his former men.

“Or having to watch Rudy give himself a baby wipe bath,” he continued, “in the middle of the grunts tent while I’m trying to brief the TL’s?”

A beat.

“Actually, I might miss that,” he deadpanned as Rudy, Mike and Poke cracked up and the rest of the men laughed nervously. He didn’t miss Brad’s raised eyebrow.

“Don’t tell me you don’t have some nubile Ivy league co-ed throwing herself across your desk on a regular basis,” Poke said when he’d finished wiping the tears from his eyes.

Nate took time to swallow the beer he was half way through before he answered.

“Tony, the only thing that gets thrown across my desk these days is paper work, paper work and more paper work,” he tried not to notice the weight of Brad’s stare.

“Sounds like the Lt needs a little lovin,” Ray said unaware of how close to the truth he was. Nate shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

“Captain, retired,” he heard Brad’s voice clarify, “and you’re not really one to start dishing out advice on matters of the heart. Fuck knows why Hasser puts up with your goat fucking, remedial, middle of nowhere butt fuck ass.”

“Ray Person,” Poke joined in and all of a suddenly the focus was off Nate, “the only marine in 1st Recon to have his face nearly blown off by a coffee pot. It’s a shame what these white boys will do for a cup of November Juliet.”

The heckling and whistles continued as Ray tried to justify his injuries. Nate caught Brad’s eye and sent a silent thank you. Brad dipped his head. He didn’t miss Rudy’s stare but refused to acknowledge it.

The burgers arrived and the flurry of identification and claiming gave way to the near silence of four tables of marines eating. Stafford had ordered another round of beers and sitting amongst these men, sharing a simple meal in a dive bar on the other side of the country, Nate felt more a peace than he had in the last 14 months. He tried not to think of his children, knowing that they were safe and settled at his parents’ house for the week.

Lilley bought the next round and Christeson the one after that. By the time it was Nate’s turn to buy, the group had decided to move on to the Head. Cabs were called and they settled the bill. After four beers, Nate found himself pleasantly unconcerned with the prospect of giving the radio interviews tomorrow.

He stumbled on the pavement onside and found a strong hand under his elbow holding him up. Nate looked up into Brad’s amused blue eyes and smiled.

“Civilian life made you soft, sir?” Brad said not letting go of him.

“Undulating terrain and POG recon skills to begin with,” Nate responded evenly despite the sudden warmth radiating from Brad’s touch.

“It’s just as well we’re not walking to the Head,” Brad looked over his shoulder as a small fleet of cabs arrived, “typical Officer – can’t be trusted with the simplest of missions.”

They ended up packed in together with Rudy and Mike in one of the cabs. Mike and Brad carrying on a half amusing conversation with the driver while Nate concentrated on not concentrating on Brad’s long denim covered leg flush along his.

Nate remembered the Head from the one or two times he’d been there – but the pirate décor still took some getting used to. The group commandeered the pool tables and set about drinking their way through the numerous beers on tap.

Brad seemed to be glued to his side for most of the night. Not that Nate was complaining, but he’d caught Mike’s puzzled look more than once.

“Dude, I don’t care who’s shooting at me,” Lilley was swaying as he uttered his proclamation, “I will light them the fuck up!”

A loud chorus of ‘Hoo-rahs!’ and ‘get somes!’ followed that statement. Ray returned with a tray of glasses sporting an array of little umbrellas and colored swizzle sticks.

“Sir,” Brad said trying to get Nate’s attention, “your drink.”

He handed Nate a hi-ball glass with a piece of pineapple stuck to the rim and a festive red and white umbrella hanging to one side on a jaunty angle.

“It’s Nate,” he couldn’t be sure he wasn’t slurring, “my name is Nate and I’m not drinking that!”

Brad’s eyes crinkled at the side as he suppressed a smile.

“Something wrong with your drink, Nate?” he asked innocently.

“It’s got an umbrella in it,” Nate said in a voice bordering on incredulous, “and, and pineapple!”

“Ethically opposed to pineapple are we Nate?” Brad’s tone may have been mocking, but he wasn’t sure.

“Ethically, no, but I’m ideologically, epistemologically and philosophically opposed to drinking any drink that has pineapple attached to it,” Nate pulled straightened himself up to deliver the sound bite, “It’s too girlie!”

There was a small squeaking sound from Walt’s direction and a distinct shoulder movement from someone in the vicinity of Ray. Nate stared at the men around him and realised most were twitching and Mike was grinning outright.

Poke couldn’t contain his laughter any longer and burst forth, which allowed the rest of them to start. Lilley laughed so hard he fell off his chair and Stafford made his drink come out his nose from laughing. Nate sat amongst them looking puzzled for a moment or two and then starting laughing with them. He caught Brad’s eye and felt the warmth radiating out.

Fuck.

Brad reached over and extracted the offending pineapple and umbrella from Nate’s drink. Nate watched the pineapple pass those red lips and felt a shiver run up his spine.

“No more girlie drinks, Ray,” Mike said as the laughing died down, “Washington won’t appreciate the great Nate Fick being forced to drink gender inappropriate drinks by a bunch of devil dogs.”

“Less of the ‘great’, Mike,” Nate mumbled as he drained the less offensive cocktail. It burned all the way down, “Jesus Ray, what the hell was that?”

“Rum, vodka, tequila, gin and pineapple juice,” Ray said smiling innocently.

Nate groaned – he was going to pay for this tomorrow morning. He stood up and found the floor was very uneven under his feet. Brad’s hand appeared on his arm again, but he shook it off and set out to find the bathroom.

When he got back to the table he found Brad, Mike, Rudy and Poke standing in a group near the front door. He wandered over.

“…he has 2 radio interviews tomorrow,” Poke was saying to Mike.

Oh shit. No good can come from this.

“Brad needs to get him back to his hotel,” Rudy said calmly. The other three looked at him. Nate couldn’t see Brad’s face.

“Ok,” Brad said after a long pause.

“You know,” Nate said in a loud voice, “I’m more than capable of getting myself back to the hotel. I’m not a child.”

Didn’t quite manage to keep the petulant out of his voice. Fuck.

“Of course you’re not,” Mike was using that tone on him, “it’s just we wouldn’t want anything to happen to you between here and your hotel.”

No one seemed to be thinking about what could happen to him once Brad got him to the hotel.

“Yeah, Lt,” Poke was backing Mike up on this, “what with you being such a big deal these days and all.”

Nate shook his head. He stood no chance when the three of them ganged up on him.

“Is my sister going to get a call tomorrow morning?” it was pathetic that that was the question most pressing on his mind at this particular time.

Mike smiled.

“Not from me,” which meant Cara would be the one calling. Nate sighed heavily.

“Say good bye to the others for me,” he hugged Poke and Rudy in turn.

“Take it easy, Nate,” Mike offered as he came in to hug him, “We’ll come and see the Ficklets some time after February.”

Nate stiffened for a brief second, then relaxed and hugged Mike back.

In a blur of action, Brad had him out of the Head and into a cab before he could really think about it.

“Where to guys?” the driver asked.

“Residence Inn,” Nate said as he leaned his head back against the head rest, turned his head and watched Brad’s face as the cab pulled out into the traffic.

“I’m not that drunk,” he said.

Brad didn’t say anything and continued to look out the window, the street lights passing across those cheek bones and down the long tanned neck. Nate’s teeth found his bottom lip again.

“I’m more than capable of getting myself back to the hotel,” he tried again.

Brad slowly turned his head and regarded Nate with a cool blue stare. Iceman indeed.

“I trust Gunny’s judgement,” he said finally, “and he seems to think you need a guard detail. Why is that, Nate?”

Nate blinked at Brad. He really didn’t want to go into the personal hell that he been his life for the last 14 months; didn’t want to explain the loss and the struggle and the bleakness that had colored his days and nights. He especially didn’t want to go into it with this incredible beautiful man.

What he wants is to touch. He wants to know how soft Brad’s skin is, the sounds he makes; he wants to feel alive.

He reached out, moving slowly to give Brad a chance to pull away, and gently ran his fingers down the side of the sergeants face. He traced the curve of Brad’s cheekbones and along his jaw.

Brad’s eyes fluttered shut and Nate thought that was possibly the most beautiful thing he’d seen in a long time. Brad’s hand caught his and brought it to his mouth. Opening his eyes he placed the briefest of kisses on Nate’s fingers before dropping them onto the seat between them.

It was so quick that Nate might have thought he missed it until he looked down and saw their hands entwined and felt the warmth of Brad’s larger hand seep into his skin.

Fuck.


	4. DEC06 - Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some things were meant to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Complete fabrication – based on characters from a TV series and the authors own wild imaginings with no disrespect for actual people. Idea stolen from ‘Family Portrait’ by Journey. All mistakes my own.

Brad likes to live an uncomplicated life. He has the Marine Corps, his bike and surfing. He likes ‘80’s rock, the latest computer gadgetry and cold beer. He likes jet skis; rock climbing and annihilating his team mates at paintball.

Being an uncomplicated man, when he feels the need to get laid, he has a couple of numbers in his phone that usually get him what he needs at an agreed price and he’s happy with that.

What he usually doesn’t do is make out with half drunk former Marine Captains on their lovely $175 a night Marriott bed; his shirt bunched up and long elegant fingers caressing his chest.

This was not living an uncomplicated life.

But at the moment, with Nate’s lush mouth on his, opening up and sliding an agile tongue against his, he was having a hard time caring.

There was a small part of his brain, the part not focused on the breathy sounds coming from Nate and the delicious way he is pressed against Brad, which questioned his sanity.

He blames Rudy for volunteering him to escort Nate back to the hotel – no, he blames Poke for stopping to catch up with Nate yesterday.

Nate moves across him and suddenly their hardening lengths are aligned and Brad forgets to lay blame and moves his hands onto Nate’s hips, holding the slightly smaller man to him.

He’s rewarded with another breathy moan from Nate and he rolls them over so that Nate is lying under him.

Brad’s fingers make short work of the buttons on Nate’s shirt and Nate rises up a little to slide flushed skin against skin. He breaks their kiss, heart leaping at the negative sound Nate makes, and he looks into those glass green eyes.

Nate’s rapid breath matches his own and he watches the rise and fall of Nate’s pale, smooth chest. Nate’s mouth is slick with their combined spit, red from where he’s bitten, licked, kissed. Nate brings his hand up to caress the side of Brad’s face in an echo of his earlier touch in the taxi.

It almost undoes Brad.

Nate slides his hand behind Brad’s head to guide him back to those eager lips. Brad doesn’t resist.

Instead, he moves his hand down along the sleek lines of Nate’s chest, abs and stomach until he finds the jean’s buttons. Nate arches up as Brad’s hand brushes his hardness.

“Christ,” Nate mutters as he struggles to get Brad’s pants undone. Brad’s worked his hands into Nate’s jeans and is busy learning the weight and feel of Nate’s cock.

Their lips come together again in long, heavy kisses as Nate finally gets his hand on Brad. The slow, jerky movements giving way to harder, more urgent stokes as the need for air breaks them apart.

Brad can see Nate’s orgasm in his blown pupils, the trembling bottom lip being held fast by perfect white teeth. He can feel it in the desperate movement of Nate’s hips in counterpoint to his strokes and he can hear it in the low keening sound coming from Nate.

It all goes right to the base of his spine and he gets about a 3 second warning before his own orgasm is crashing upon him and jerks as he spills over Nate’s wrist and onto his own stomach.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he pants into Nate’ mouth, trying to give himself time to recover. The disorientation he hears in his voice tips Nate over the edge and before Brad can regain his composure he feels the hot spurts of Nate’s release.

They lay there, Nate half under Brad, his free hand gently stroking the fine hairs at the base of Brad’s marine haircut, and Brad knows he should be on the move; getting cleaned up and getting the hell out of there. But he just can’t seem to make himself leave.

When he finally turns his head towards Nate he sees those green eyes watching him carefully.

Uh.

Nate’s mouth lifts in a small smile and then he closes the gap and Brad feels those swollen lips on his.

“Stay,” Nate whispers against his mouth and Brad can’t really remember any good reason not to.


End file.
